


Feral

by Killmongersmistress (teakturn), teakturn



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Character Turned Into Vampire, Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Long Beach, Los Angeles, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Universe, POV Original Character, Revenge, Vampire Family, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2020-07-19 18:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19978210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teakturn/pseuds/Killmongersmistress, https://archiveofourown.org/users/teakturn/pseuds/teakturn
Summary: “When’s dinner,” Amala whined towards the ceiling.“You’ve already eaten,” Yahya didn’t spare the pouting woman a glance. His dark eyes and nimble fingers were focused on some doodad or another that held little interest to her.“Well I’m hungry again,” Amala rose to her knees on the thick antique carpet and stared up at his profile, “I think I know my own body.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Do not steal or repost my work*

“When’s dinner,” Amala whined towards the ceiling. 

“You’ve already eaten,” Yahya didn’t spare the pouting woman a glance. His dark eyes and nimble fingers were focused on some doodad or another that held little interest to her.

“Well I’m hungry again,” Amala rose to her knees on the thick antique carpet and stared up at his profile, “I think I know my own body.”

Yahya smirked at that and Amala didn’t even need to hear the innuendo to know he was thinking something lewd and coarse, about her. Since he was still intent on the object in his fingers Amala tried to force the idea of feeding her into his mind. Nothing that would break him or wipe out his memory of his childhood. It was just a nudge, a tiny little push in the direction that would see her belly full and satisfied.

“Stop it!” Yahya turned to her sharply and cocked an eyebrow. His classic features and dark skin looked all the more handsome when he was angry. It wasn’t a trick when Amala smiled at him. She placed her hands on his knees and looked up at him pleadingly.

“But I’m hungry,” cue puppy dog eyes. Amala’s large eyes were brown and captivating to men and women alike regardless of sexual orientation. She’d been blessed with long, curly lashes that fanned out from her eyes and made them appear rounder, more doe-like and guileless to the untrained eye. There wasn’t a person alive who’d ever resisted the pull of her stare.

“No. I’m not gonna risk it.” Of course, Yahya wasn’t alive.

“Just a quick bite, I won’t hurt anybody.” Amala pulled out the big guns; she poked her bottom lip out and sat back on her knees as if she were praying. With her hands clasped together in front of her chest, Amala looked the perfect picture of innocence, her long locks flowed down her back, the few locs framing her face had been pulled back and secured with her favorite black velvet ribbon. 

Yahya shot her a look of disbelief but Amala could see his wall cracking. He really did hate to deny her. He gave her everything she wanted, always had since the day they’d met at that murky alleyway.

Setting the object he’d been tinkering with down, Yahya sat back in his chair and patted his knee. Biting her lip to hide a triumphant smile, Amala gracefully settled on his lap. She made herself comfortable against his strong, chiseled chest. Her head rested on his shoulder, giving her the perfect view of his neck and the veins that were there.

“Does it burn baby?” Yahya offered her his thumb, Amala opened her mouth and allowed him to rub her sore gums.

She didn’t even have to think about the ever-present burn in her throat to feel it. It had become second nature to her at this point. The pain had never left and the only thing that soothed it was food. Amala nipped at his thumb when he pulled it away, earning herself a playful tickle and the pleasure of seeing his gleaming pearly whites. They looked prettier than any predators teeth should be but she wasn’t complaining. It was his smile after all that had started them down this eternity.

Yahaya cupped her butt for balance and rubbed affectionately at the skin he could feel underneath her skirt.

“Baby I know you wanna feed but -” Yahya pulled on her plump bottom lip, Amala found herself swimming in his dark gaze. She was seeing but not, there but not. All thoughts, all wants, and needs had been wiped clean.

“You’re not hungry. You’re going to wait, until two weeks from now when we go hunting, just as we always do.” With a soft gaze and an equally soft caress against Amala’s dark cheek, Yahya added, “Now let me finish with my work. It’s almost daylight anyway, you need rest.”

Amala nodded woodenly and, just as stiffly, clambered off Yahya’s lap. She shuffle-stepped her way across the antique carpet, down the marble-lined hallways and staircases. Her body moved as if pulled by strings not controlled by her but eventually she made her way upstairs and out of sight.

That distraction taken care of, Yahya returned to his work. He had a war to plan and weapons to develop. He didn’t have time for a needy baby vampire whining because she’s not getting enough attention. Soon, he could give his pet all the attention she needs. Yahya stroked his hand along the length of the stake he’d created himself. It was revolutionary work and he wasn’t bragging about that.

Those other covens don’t know what’s coming for them.


	2. Chapter 2

Anyone who lives in Los Angeles knows that the city isn’t actually a city but a collective of territories all butting up against one another. There were similarities in the demographics of its inhabitants; every block had their elote man and tamale lady. All the kids in the neighborhood knew where the candy house was and always kept the change for when one of the two competing ice cream men for that block would make their rounds.

Just like every neighborhood had their regulars, they had their royalty. The vampires ruled their territories like gangs and protected their own, at the expense of anyone who got in their way. The mayor of LA was a figurehead and the LAPD was a joke, whether you knew about vampires or not. It was the coven that families went to for protection. There was always a price for a favor but the humans knew the score and were willing to make the sacrifice so their son or daughter wouldn’t end up the next hashtag.

The younger generations, the ones like Amala who grew up in a world where vampires had always been the norm and paying blood taxes to covens for protection was as inevitable as paying taxes to the actual government, the only way to make it up and out of the block was to work with the coven. Humans weren’t only blood bags in their eyes after all. They were good for the daily duties the average vampire didn’t have the skin for. They could leave and return to territories with little to no repercussions because every vampire was aware of the fragility of human life and didn’t want to start a turf war over anyone less than a vampire anyway.

Amala grew up on Manchester and 88th, under the Pajarito coven. They were an older coven who stayed for the most part out of their humans’ lives. They had treaties with most of the adjacent territories and didn’t participate in all the coven politics the coven closer to West Hollywood and West LA favor. The neighborhood was strictly residential all with three schools and a few supermarkets. 

Amala grew up across the street from a park and she spent her hours staring out of her window at night watching the vampires play in the park and live under the light of the moon. It always took hours to go to sleep so instead of counting sheep she counted vampires, well into dawn sometimes. It was no surprise to her family when, as soon as she turned sixteen, she began hanging with members of the Pajarito coven. Just as it surprised no one when the Pajarito coven denied her request to be changed.

For a while, Amala spent her nights out looking for a vampire to befriend from a territory she wouldn’t mind living in. She courted the West Hollywood and West LA coven, they never had a shortage of newborn vampires because they were always in a turf war. She’d felt out of place and subservient to the vampires she met there. It was nothing like Pajarito, where the vampires treated you politely and knew your grandparents. It didn’t take her long to politely fade out of those circles. She began looking elsewhere, becoming as nocturnal as the undead friend she courted.

It was in Long Beach that she found a coven she felt welcomed and at ease. The Rios-Wexner coven. They were like a family. She was too young to turn but they opened their home to her and allowed her to be apart of their day to day life. Carole Rios-Wexner became a mother to her and pushed her to go back to school and finish her education. Her husband, Hector, was a vampire from the 17th century. He taught her about cooking and had all the original bindings of the fairytales Amala had grown up reading as a kid. They pushed her into theatre and SAT Prep classes.

The humans in their territory were happy and diverse. Where she lived there were either Latines or Black people, with a few interracial families here and there. In the Rios-Wexner territory, there was a mix of families in picturesque houses and twenty-something artists who were going to college and opening queer coffee shops. There were Vietnamese and Cambodian pho restaurants coexisting peacefully with the sushi restaurants and poke places. Without exaggerating Amala would say that every neighborhood has its own boba restaurant.

The Rios-Wexners were patient and encouraging, everything a human teenager needs as they prepare to make the most important decision of their life. Probably too encouraging. They had relationships with every coven in Long Beach because it was impossible not to. Of the California territories, no city was more neatly cut apart than Long Beach. There were the ports and beaches cut into at least five territories that Amala knew of. Each high school, elementary school, and middle school was neatly enclosed in its own territory. The most impressive fact about Long Beach was that the humans in these territories usually stayed within their territory. And if they did venture out they didn’t go farther than Lakewood or San Pedro.

With the Rios-Wexner's encouragement, Amala went back to school in their territory and met Antoni of the Poly coven. Their territory was effectively the block that the high school Long Beach Polytechnic took up on Atlantic. Coven was probably generous. It was really a group of twenty or so baby vampires who were all turned right after high school. Usually, established an established coven waited until at least the human’s twenty-fifth birthday before they Turned them. No one knew who was turning the Poly pack and as far as Amala knew no one was actually looking into it.

Antoni a baby vampire breezed into Amala’s life on a skateboard. He had long, curly dark hair and even darker eyes. When they ran the streets lit only by a neon sun, Amala would imagine herself Turned and at his side. They wouldn’t need to ever be apart because she wouldn’t need to sleep or eat. Separation was a big thing in their relationship. They were never spending enough time together even though Amala saw him at school and in her classes in broad daylight as much as she saw him out on 7th street.

Amala lost herself in Antoni before anyone could stop her. She barely graduated high school and immediately moved into the debilitated craftsman he lived in with a few other vampires. She slept on the floor because they refused to buy a bed and all of the couches and chairs were taken up while they partied all night. She had to get a job and everything in Long Beach was coven owned which meant getting a job in Buena Park and taking a two-hour bus to get to work. Under the Rios-Wexner’s she’d thrived, under Antoni’s thumb, she shrunk.

Antoni drank and took her body as freely as he liked. Early in their relationship, when she’d been young, dumb, and in love with the idea of being in love with a vampire Amala had asked him to take control of her. She’d seen BDSM relationships online and had taken it into her head that submitting and being dominated meant someone cared for her. That it meant they would know how to take care of her and treat her well. As strong as he was Antoni didn’t need her permission, but he used the fact that she gave it against her as often as he hurt her.

By the time Amala was twenty-one, she’d been a shadow of herself for a few years. She had a job in Long Beach now, a gift from the Rios-Wexner’s once she’d finally wised up and went crawling back to them the way she should have the first time. Or any time after the first time.

* * *

Amala took the long way home on her walk home from work that night. She’d locked up at 50c Bookstore for probably the last time and she needed a moment to decompress before facing her roommates. Downtown Long Beach is both trendy and a sad experiment in gentrification. Every other street still had the remnants of the former character of the city, while on another street construction sites wiped out what was left. The bookstore she worked at would be the next casualty. 

The Pike was changing, and there was nothing a little human-like Amala could do about it. She would call the Rios-Wexner’s as they were always telling her to and see if they had any other friends who needed someone to work daylight hours.

The sound of footsteps sliding against pavement broke Amala out of her thoughts. It was early yet for a vampire to be out, the sun had only just dipped towards the horizon. On one side the sky was the color of a bruise and getting darker. Yet when Amala turned her head she could still feel the warmth of the sun on her cheeks. When the streetlights began to flicker on she quickened her pace and kept her ears peeled for any footsteps other than her own.

She had more than one reason to be paranoid these days. When she left Antoni had not taken it well that Amala had been the one to discard him. The Rios-Wexner’s placed her under their protection but there was only so much Amala could expect them to do for her. Their coven didn’t do turf wars or conflicts. Amala had spent more than a little time with Antoni and his crew, she didn’t want to see what they would do to the people she considered her family.

Amala stopped at the last stoplight before her neighborhood with a slight sigh of relief. Her body didn’t lose that taut, ready to run feeling but her eyes stopped checking every corner for a lurking vampire or staggering man. This was the homestretch. Even if something got her now, there’d be cameras with evidence. It was a dark thought but Amala had given up on ignoring reality years ago.

The light took a small eternity to change to red and allow Amala to cross. She’d just taken a step forward, her other foot poised to hit the street when a tugging at her hoodie pulled her back abruptly. Amala lost balance and tripped into whoever yanked her. Before she could find her footing an arm with an iron grip wrapped around her waist. The pain of how tightly they gripped her was all Amala could feel when her feet suddenly left the ground entirely.

Now she was flying through the night, the streets, time. When she finally came to a stop it was on the darkest side of the city in the darkest alleyway Amala had ever been in. Her eyes darted around frantically, taking in nothing but darkness, fucking darkness! She couldn’t breathe through that black. The arm of what she knew to be a vampire twisted her so that she was against the brick of a building what little air she’d had left her. Her head slapped back against the wall, now she was dizzy from lack of air and the impact of the brick against her skull.

“Oops,” the darkness chuckled, “I forgot how soft you are. I was trying to be gentle, I swear.”

That voice, Amala stiffened. When she breathed she got the distinct smell of him and nearly shuddered. He was still intoxicating to her, yet the memory of exactly what kind of intoxication he was alarmed her more than it aroused her. Antoni didn’t care though. He’d already moved on and was nosing at her neck and pawing at her hips.

“P-p-” Amala couldn’t get the word out. Her throat burned with the word yet her lips wouldn’t let them out. Antoni moved to full massaging her ass, his other hand cupped her neck and his strong fingers harshly angled her head just the way he liked.

It was a position as familiar to her as the unmistakable hopeless situation he’d trapped her in. She wasn’t strong enough to get him away from and, she could admit there was a part of her that didn’t want him away. When he ground his hips against her she moaned. Her skin felt like it was on fire where he touched her. Amala had missed the burn. He’d ruined her long ago and all she wanted to do was go back to her training and mindlessness, the empty-headed relief he always gifted her.

“That’s my girl, you missed this. Didn’t you?” Antoni teased her earlobe with his teeth and she shuddered. She couldn’t separate fear and arousal at this point.

She had. Amala sobbed without answering. He’d fucked her up like that. Hurt her and then pleasured her until she couldn’t separate the two, even when it made her feel awful after. Antoni didn’t need her to speak for this. Quickly he grew tired of teasing and just moved her into position. Back against his chest, face against the wall, and her ass in the perfect position for him to slip right into her pussy. She’d worn a dress today to the store today. A tiny little goodbye party had been held by her manager and coworkers and she’d felt good about finally having a reason to dress up again. Now she knew she’d only been making it easier for him.

“Now this don’t look consensual,” this time when the darkness spoke it didn’t sound like Antoni.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever to arrive but luckily I've plotted the rest of this and there's an ending ins sight. Enjoy and leave comments!!!

The vampire rutting against her paused to look at whoever had joined them in the alley he’d prepared just to torment her. Amala couldn’t move her head to see who joined him, but she felt this sense of awareness, like what prey must feel, that he was another vampire. Why else would Antoni even consider stopping?

“This doesn’t concern you, old-timer. Get the fuck out of here.”

Amala struggled in Antoni’s grip yet went nowhere. He hissed at her and she stilled. She’d learned better than to anger him before he fed on her. Sometimes, he would pretend to make it good for her. But when he was mad, all that pretense went out the window. The last thing she wanted was for him to rip her throat out when all he wanted was to remind her of who she belonged to.

“You’re right. This ain’t my problem. But that is my window. And what goes on outside my window is my problem when it wakes me up.” The voice, so much deeper and slower than Antoni’s gets darker with every word. By the time he’s finished speaking even Amala is crushed under the weight of age and power coming off of him.

Antoni releases her and Amala rushes to put distance between their bodies. She stumbles on weak knees to the opposite wall. Far away from the intruder but even farther from Antoni. The alleyway remains pitch black but her eyes adjust enough to allow her to see Antoni and a much taller vampire stare each other down. The vampire who’d interrupted them is lean yet built, his shoulders are both broad and strong. He looked powerful, beyond the simple strength most vampires were gifted with once Turned. His dark skin seems to swallow the blackness so that all Amala can see is the whites of his eyes. 

“I’d like if you kindly got the fuck out my sight.” the vampire beamed and his teeth glowed in the darkness. His fangs weren’t in sight but his smile still had a sharp edge to it. Antoni would be a fool not to listen. Amala knew him better than anyone, he was more patient than others gave him credit for. He had more than enough time to fuck with her for as long as she lived. One vampire interrupting them didn’t mean she was suddenly saved from his wrath.

Antoni’s eyes found Amala in the darkness and he sneered at her. With one final glance towards the other vampire, he ran at a speed too fast for Amala’s human eyes to catch. And just like that she was alone, with a vampire she couldn’t even see.

She cast a wary glance towards the remaining vampire and found the whites of his eyes already trained on her. She felt paralyzed under his gaze, vulnerable and acutely aware of just how weak and human she truly was. Amala stared at him warily, waiting for him to do anything other than stare at her with those depthless eyes.

"Does that happen often?" The darkness asked.

Amala nodded, she was no longer gripped by helpless terror despite the predator in front of her. Now that she wasn't in danger of being raped, Amala felt tired. She wanted her bed, her blanket, and above all, a fucking nap. Despite her fatigue, she couldn't relax. The vampire has saved her, but why? Aside from the Rios-Wexners, Amala had yet to meet a vampire who cared enough about humans to protect them from one of their kind. There was too much politics involved and vampires are by nature territorial.

"What do you want from me?" Amala finally found her voice, and it was as weak as her knees. 

The darkness tsked, "You humans, so hasty,"

"You vampires, so long-winded." Amala shot back before she could stop herself. She gulped when her response was met with silence.

When he flashed his teeth Amala flinched but he was only smiling. Amusement shone in his eyes. He stepped forward and a shadow settled in her line of vision.

"You probably don't want to dirty up that pretty dress more than that infant already has."

Amala hesitated, "What's your coven?"

This time she was prepared for the flash of white teeth. He chuckled and took her by the arm, bodily lifting her up as if she were a toddler or puppy. Once she was on her feet he didn't let her go. Amala squirmed in his grip, not unaware of the danger she was in but no longer as afraid. He hadn't hurt her, yet, and as small as the possibility was there was always a chance he could be like the Rios-Wexners.

But there was always the chance he was like Antoni; charming and considerate to begin with then cruel once she let her guard down.

"What is your name?" He asked.

By now, Amala's eyes have adjusted to the darkness. She can see his features: High cheekbones, a strong stubbled jaw, and full lips with a tantalizing cupid's bow. The reality of his beauty, and her instant attraction to it made Amala swallow around the dryness in her mouth.

"Tell me yours first," she sounded braver than she felt. But that bravery crumbled when he cocked his eyebrow. He had her at his mercy, her life would only last as long as he was intrigued by her.

"A-Amala," Amala whispered, "My name is Amala."

The vampire smiled and the warmth within it nearly made her relax. It was the reality of their situation, the precarious position she was in as an unclaimed human in no doubt his territory.

"Amala," the vampire repeated. "Does he-"

"Antoni," Amala bit out. The venom in her voice was unmistakable. If anything, it made him smile wider.

“Abusers don’t deserve names,” the vampire spoke softly.

His words intrigued her. It was the first time someone had acknowledged that what Antoni did to her was actually abuse. It was the first time someone had seen her fear and the hatred that fear caused and encouraged it in her. He didn’t care that she was human, cursing one of his own. He saw Antoni the way she saw him, a brutal, dangerous vampire. The Rios-Wexners, for all the good they’ve brought to her life, never once spoke up to condemn Antoni. 

Sure they believed her, but in their eyes, he was a baby vampire. It was expected that he’d play with the boundaries of his power. To them, Antoni would grow out of it or be killed because he messed with the wrong person. Either way, they’d be around long after he died and it wouldn’t matter. 

“Does he do that often? Accost you in darkened alleyways.” the vampire nodded his chin towards where Antoni had retreated.

“He was my boyfriend,” Amala said timidly, “We broke up because he was drinking from me without my permission,” Among other things**, she added in her head.

The vampire growled low, and his dark eyes tinged red for the briefest of seconds. Amala squirmed in his grip again, wary of what he would unleash on her if he was angry. But he must have noticed her struggling because one deep breath later and he was calm. The red in his eyes was gone though his jaw remained clenched.

“And his coven, what do they do about this?”

Amala’s silence was answer enough.

The vampire nodded once and released her. Amala stumbled back to the ground, she hadn't realized he'd lifted her off her feet. By the time she was balanced the vampire had moved across the alleyway and was stroking his chin. He gave every appearance of having forgotten her existence. Yet when Amala took a step towards the end of the alleyway, towards escape, dark, depthless eyes froze her in place.

So he wanted her to stick around then, Amala thought hysterically, great. Just peachy. Serves her right for walking home at night. She should have just overdrafted and taken a Lyft.

“Alright, I’ve come to a decision,” the vampire announced. Amala repressed a shudder and covered the fear that swept through her body like a wave of cold water.

“Lucky me,” she gritted sarcastically. In a move so practiced Amala had to fight off a bout of deja vu induced nausea, she pulled her long dreadlocks to the side and bared her neck to him.

Every human in the _know_ knew the drill. Vampires worked off of an ironclad honor system among each other, but with humans, they bartered with something everyone amusingly called the ‘blood price’. Humans allowed random vampires to feed off of them in exchange for favors or to help them out of debt. Sometimes a one-time feeding became lifetime servitude but Millenials had to pay for college somehow.

The vampire studied the display Amala made with hungry eyes. Then, like a cartoon, he shook his head and his black eyes suddenly seemed brown. In fact, the alleyway seemed lighter somehow. The added light allowed her to see more of him, all of him. He was really tall, like, Amala at 5’7 at to look up to look him in the eyes tall. And built, in a really lean way. Not quite a football player but way more bulked up than any basketball player had any right to be. 

She could see his age too and mentally revised her basketball football body comparison. He had the body of someone who’d trained hard and long, doing real work that her soft, unmarked 21st-century hands had never seen before. A vampire his age had old blood, strong blood. 

No vampire would admit it but Hector was a professor at Cal State Long Beach, specifically in the research department. There was anonymously funded study going on for vampire blood and there was a discover sometime around the time Pluto stop being a planet that revealed vampire blood could be followed through sire lines that got weaker and stronger depending on the age of the blood.

Amala, vampire-obsessed preteen that she was, soaked up this information greedily. And never had some useless bout of hyper fixation deep diving on the internet served her better than in that moment. It was utterly useless to her and yet the knowledge came to the forefront of her mind with such clarity. Then again, her neck was still barred to that old blooded vampire. Better to remember useless trivia than focus on the feeling of teeth yet again sinking into her neck. Maybe if she pretended she was offering it to him, that she wanted him to bite her in repayment for probably literally saving her life, it wouldn’t feel so violating.

“You think I plan to feed on you? After I just saved your ass from that infant?” the vampire chuckled in disbelief.

Amala glared at him and her cheeks heated, “Well, what have you decided then?”

Here the vampire grinned, utterly pleased with himself, “I’m going to change you into a vampire.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Do I get a say in this?” Amala blurts.

The vampire falters, “Correct me if I’m wrong but you have the stench of other vampires all over you. Was this not what you were aiming for?”

“They’re my family, and friends,” Amala said defensively. She only knew vampires, hadn’t had a human for a friend since she moved out of her mother’s house. “And yeah but when I pictured it happening I didn’t expect it to be in the middle of an alley with a vampire I don’t even know.”

The vampire shot her a pitying look, “Do you want me to woo ya’ or something?”

Amala took a deep breath before she snapped at him, “That’s not my point.”

All casual, predator’s grace, the vampire saunters closer, into a beam of light Amala now realizes is coming from someone’s bathroom. It brings even more of the vampire’s handsome, expertly chiseled features into view. His lips, tantalizingly broad, full, and smooth looking. They looked soft, even though Amala knew vampires were rarely, if ever, soft. His shoulders were broad and it suited his bulk and his trim waist made the top half of him seem even more substantial. 

Amala took a belated step back once she realized the vampire was close enough to study her just as she studied him. She couldn’t imagine what he must see in her. Amala was neither slender nor fat, kinda plump actually. She had a little tummy that she tucked into high waisted skirts, pants, and shorts and full cheeks that made her look younger than she was. Her height distributed her weight evenly, and more than one creepy friend of the Rios-Wexner’s had compared her body to a painting done by Gustave Courbet.

Stupidly, she’d looked the painting up. She definitely had a few more pounds on the woman in the painting but it was a dead-on for her body type.  
The vampire smiled when she stumbled, “Smart. It’s not smart to be all alone when there are predators about.”

Amala stilled, “I know that” she snapped. She’d always known, and like an idiot, she’d devoted her life to be among the very people who could suck her dry and not remember if they did it a day ago of half a century ago.

“Bet you tired of hiding,” brown eyes swept up and down Amala’s body, “Cowering. I’m offering you a fast past to what you’ve always wanted.”

“And it’s too good to be true” Amala shot back, “I’ve listened to another man’s false promises and lost everything!”

“Don’t believe me then. Let me change you, let me put you on an even playing field. And if you find you can’t stand my ass or that I misled you somehow you’re free to leave.” the vampire took a step back and pointed down one end of the alleyway. The street beyond looked dark, unwelcoming, and unfamiliar.

“How can I believe you?”

“Because once you’re a vampire I’ll need to have a reason to kill you. The powers that be like to keep vampire deaths under wraps; keeps the humans in line.”

Amala rolled her eyes. And, secretly, filed that bit of information away for later research.

“And,” the vampire continued in a put upon voice, “As your sire, I’ll feel a certain responsibility towards your wellbeing immediately after you're…” he struggled for a word.

“Born?” Amala supplied cautiously. She couldn’t let him think she was opening up to the idea of him biting her. She was just interested in the information he had, things she’d always wanted to know about vampires yet had never gotten permission to look into for herself. Vampires were notorious knowledge hoarders.

The vampire smirked, “Yeah,” he nodded at her in thanks for the word. “Don’t trust me, trust that someone else is just as sick and tired as you of vampires using humans like CapriSuns.”

Amala snorted at the morbid image, surprising a genuine smile out of the vampire in front of her. “Get off your soapbox okay. I’m not saying no I just…” _Don’t know how to trust anymore_

Amala couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence but her meaning hung in the air between them. Antoni had done more than scar up her body, he’d scared her mind. She was too deep in the world of vampires to go back to whatever remained of the life she had before. Too broken to have mundane conversations with other humans about the banalities of life while in the back of her mind all Amala can see are too sharp teeth and cold, gripping hands.

“I want it,” Amala declares. The vampire smiles wide, his bright white teeth the most illuminating thing in the alleyway.

“Perfect,” he purred.

The vampire was on her in two, long strides too fast for her human eyes to see. She gasped at his sudden nearness and flinched. The vampire paused so he could catch her eye. That little bit of contact was enough to make Amala take a sudden, gasping, inhale. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped breathing. His gaze, so intent upon her, had been a reminder. When he finally moved again, the vampire telegraphed every move he made and moved slowly enough for her human eyes to keep up with.

Deliberately, gently, he gripped the back of her neck. Amala flinched, prepared for it to hurt, just as everything with Antoni always had. The vampire made a soothing, humming noise in his chest. His already gentle grip became a caress. He was soothing her. Amala was so tense, all she could think of was Antoni and all the times he’d made it hurt because he was so careless. He hadn’t been human for so long, and the vampire in front of her was much older. Amala couldn’t imagine the Change _not_ hurting.

So she flinched, at everything. And the vampire surprised her again by not getting angry, but by becoming softer. The way he touched her made her feel cherished, like she was a precious thing. It was too much for her to handle. Amala couldn’t remember a time in her life someone touching her didn’t set off alarm bells in her head.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, sweet girl. There are ways to do this…” his nose brushed her temple, “ways I can make this good for you.” 

Amala turned her face into his, seeking the rasp of a beard she hadn’t seen in the darkness. His skin was cold, like all vampires, but it was grounding.

She swayed into the vampire, half-pulled by his hold on her. The air around her became syrupy, breathing it in made her lightheaded. Her knees, already weak from her brush with Antoni, gave out, finally. The vampire didn’t let her fall, moving his other hand so that it caught her around her waist, drawing Amala’s small, soft body into his hardness.

“Wha--uh…” Amala moaned, her eyes rolling back into her head.

“There it is,” the vampire crooned. He kissed her forehead, lovingly. The cold brush of his lips made her gasp.

“Sleep, sweetness, There will be better days to come”

The vampire didn’t hesitate, but he didn’t rush. Baring her neck to his mouth, the vampire placed a firm, kiss to the column of her throat. And, with a burst of pleasure, Amala wasn’t prepared for, sunk his teeth into her neck.

It’s the burning in her throat that wakes her. Her tongue was dry, tacky. Amala tried to move her head, her temples pounded in protest until she stopped. But Amala couldn't lay still for long. Her throat, the feeling of needing a glass of...something...something. Her teeth ached, but that was an afterthought to the thirst.

_Blindly, Amala rolled to her knees. Lifting her head, she sniffed the air, smelling nothing but dusk, the smell of the clothes she’d been wearing for too long, and iron. Her mouth would have watered if it weren’t so dry. With what little strength she had, Amala dragged herself towards the source of the iron._

Blood. The thought hits her distantly. The burning of her throat more of a presence than the reality of what she’s craving.

“Sweetness you shouldn’t be up yet,” a masculine voice tsks above her.

Amala feels herself being lifted, and she’s surrounded by warmth. She’d been so consumed with her thirst she hadn’t noticed how cold she was. She felt practically frozen, her fingers and toes felt stiff when she tried to flex them.

Her face was guided into the warm, crook of a neck that smelled so good. Amala moaned and buried her nose against the column of his throat. 

“Go ahead, baby girl. Take a sip,” A strong hand guided her mouth into position. Instinctively she nibbled at the flesh offered to her. Her teeth felt so sore, she wasn’t entirely on board with biting on anything. But her throat, her throat ached and burned. The voice knew the pain, she could tell that in her haze. He was trying to help her.

Haltingly, Amala bit down, and with no pressure at all, she broke through the skin. Immediately her mouth was filled. She couldn’t taste, too caught up in soothing her dry throat with every swallow.

“There you go,” the deep voice sounded strained, but soon a hand was in her hair, stroking it and making her feel tingly all over.

Amala didn’t know how long she drank from him. She couldn’t even consciously remember stopping. One minute she was gulping down sweet, sweet relief. The next she was asleep, her lips still wrapped around his throat.

When she next awoke, the burn would be back. And so would he. She would be the only thing different. Distantly, Amala dreamed she was getting everything she ever wanted and smiled in her sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

“Look at me! Look what I can do,”

“Yes, love, very nice.”

Yahya’s bored response to Amala glee didn’t dim her happiness. She raced through his home with supernatural speed, stopping on a dime to lean into the doorway of his study.

“I’m so fast,” Amala giggled, not even breathless though she’d run the equivalent of two football fields. 

Yahya looked up from his tinkering and smiled, “Ready for your next lesson?”

If it were possible, Amala brightened. In a flash, she was at his side. Like clockwork, he settled back in his chair and Amala climbed into his lap. Yahya wrapped an arm around her waist and raised his arm. Happily, she placed his wrist between her teeth and began to nibble at his wrist bone. As a newborn vampire, her teeth were still sensitive. Chewing on things, like Yahya’s arm or chopsticks soothed her.

Smoothing his free hand down her hair, Yahya said, “Sunrise is in a few hours but there’s still enough time for us to go on a run.”

Amala gasped in excitement and Yahya’s wrist dropped out of her mouth, “You’re gonna run with me?”

Yahya chucked her under the chin and gave her a fond smile, “Would you like me to?”

Amala paused to think. Since she was Turned Amala found that she felt very strongly about everything. As a human, she’d been anxious and depressed. Prone to bouts of melancholy that left her bedridden and nearly suicidal. As a vampire, Amala had yet to feel anything beyond elation, hunger, and curiosity. The world was totally new to her and she wanted to explore as much of it as she could. And most of all she wanted to do it with Yahya by her side.

He’d told her that as her sire he’d feel connected to her but Amala was convinced the feeling went both ways. They’d only known each other for two weeks, and most of that she’d been an incoherent mess in the middle of her transformation. Amala felt a bond form between them during her convalescence. It was hard not to develop fond feelings for the man who fed you from his own body and held you as you trembled in pain.

With a sweet smile, Amala wrapped her arms around Yahya’s neck and said, “If you think you can keep up old man.”

* * *

Amala was strong for a baby vampire, more lucid than any newborn should be. Yahya told her that typically a newborn spent the first year of life either stuck in an endless bloodlust or melancholy. She hadn’t been far off when she realized that she was happier as a vampire than she’d ever been as a human. Part of that was definitely Yahya’s presence, but it was also because vampires felt everything deeply. Pain, love, happiness, sadness. A vampire felt all those emotions to their extremes. It explained so much about Antoni and her interactions with the Rios-Wexner's Amala wondered how she hadn't made that connection before.

“There’s a little switch inside you. There are different names for it but my Sire always said it was a little piece of our soul, still remaining.” Yahya's deep voice could lull Amala into a meditative state.

Yahya often gave lectures about vampire theory and history with Amala at his feet. She liked resting her chin on his knee and looking up at his handsome features. That dark alleyway had hidden how absolutely gorgeous and otherworldly he was. Amala sometimes wonders if she’d have let him change her if she’d known the extent of his beauty. Either way, Amala got lost watching Yahya gesture and smile and speak with a passion she’d never heard from a vampire before.

“If you’re powerful enough, you can take that piece and manipulate it.”

Amala crinkled her nose, she didn’t like that word. Yahya stroked her cheek, “I know, young one. You have your scars. But take comfort knowing that only you can do this. All you have to do is reach inside yourself and you can turn it off whenever you want.”

“Turn it off?” Hadn’t they been talking about souls?

Yahya dimpled at her, “Turn this,” he tapped her chest, “Off. All of the pain, the anger, the trauma. But if you turn it off, it takes away the good stuff too. Love becomes a memory rather than an actual emotion or sensation.”

Amala was captivated by him, “Have you ever turned it off?”

Yahya’s handsome face went tight with pain. His smile was more forced this time, “Once, little one. Only once.”

Amala’s eyes widened in surprise. Questions pushed at the seam of her lips, a river of want coursed over her.

“I want to be held.” Amala declared suddenly. 

Yahya grinned, “Of course, climb up.”

* * *

Amala wasn’t always happy. Sometimes she became so angry she scared herself. As a girl, she’d been angry a lot, but that was quiet anger. This ...seething rage she felt could bubble out of nowhere and gripped her so suddenly. Amala was helpless to the tide of her emotions and Yahya took the brunt of her mood swings with as much grace as could be expected. He talked her down from crashing through walls and bring the whole house down on them. When all she wanted to do was scream and cry and held her close and let her get it all out.

It became yet another comfort for her, knowing she could show him the worst of her and he'd still look at her like she was the moon.

“Amala stop!”

With a crash she ran through the house, breaking picture frames, sculptures, and more in her wake. She didn’t near the doors or windows the way she wanted to though. Yahya’s order still rang around in her head though she wasn’t conscious of it.

“You promised to let me kill him!” Amala threw a plate but Yahya caught it. He stepped closer as he set it down, out of her reach.

“And you will sweetness. You just have to be patient.”

“No!” Amala slammed her fist on the countertop, crumbling the marble with the force of her blow. Yahya didn’t spare it a glance, his eyes were on her.

He looked at her like she was the stars and the moon and the sun all wrapped up in one. Amala felt dangerous. She wanted to rip into something with her teeth and the feeling built up in her until her body literally shook with the need.

“You feel that sweetness?” Yahya’s voice was as soft as a caress. He began approaching her again, slowly as if she were a wild animal. To be honest, Amala felt a little feral.

“It burns,” Amala whimpered. Her eyes searched Yahya’s, “There’s this need-I _need_ -”

Yahya shushed her and then he was close enough to cup her cheeks in his large hands. She felt delicate in his grasp, all her anger washed away in place of the need to spill blood. To sink into flesh with her fangs and drink until she felt sick with satisfaction.

“That’s the bloodlust angel,” Yahya kissed her nose, “Let it fill you, baby. Lean into it.”

Amala whimpered as she looked into his eyes, “What do I do with it?”

Yahya grinned, and the sight usually made Amala feel better but this time it made her shudder. He soothed her by rhythmically rubbing his thumbs over her temple. When she looked into his eyes her mind opened for him.

“You may leave the house. I want you to run until you find something tasty. And let go,” He leaned into her, “Then come back to me sweetness, we have to celebrate your first kill.”

* * *

Yahya spoiled her. In addition to this large house in a quiet, nondescript neighborhood, he lavished Amala with gifts. Clothes to replace the wardrobe she left behind, every pretty bauble or jewel her eye landed on. When she mentioned being bored he bought her books and a laptop. When she wanted his attention he usually stopped what he was doing to give it to her.

Amala had never been spoiled before but she sunk into the role of pampered pet easily. 

The only time she could say Yahya neglected her was when he was working in his study with the door closed, or off on meetings with other vampires she’d yet to meet. Amala had yet to meet anyone Yahya knew. He let her leave to hunt and race around the city to burn off all of her excess newborn energy, but other than that the only other vampire Amala saw was Yahya.

It would bother her if she wasn’t so distracted with her new senses and power. Plus Amala hadn’t been much of a social butterfly before Yahya. After Antoni all she’d wanted to do was hide in her room and go to work. The only difference between that life and now was that Amala didn’t have to work for anything.

Her existence was perfect. Amala could easily see herself spending decades here, with Yahya. The only thorn on the otherwise beautiful rose that was her life was Antoni. The fact that he was out there, somewhere, still breathing never ceased to drive her into a rage. It was truly the only thing she wanted and the only thing Yahya insisted on denying her.

“Just a little while longer sweetness,” Yahya kissed her temple but he was distracted. He had another meeting. Which meant another night of him coming home smelling like other vampires.

“I don’t like it when you leave,” Amala pouted.

Yahya rubbed her hip but didn’t answer, his eyes were focused on his computer and the download status bar. Pouting harder, Amala stood from his lap and lazily stomped towards the door.

“I’m going hunting!”

“Be careful,” Yahya called back.

“Can’t make me!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has taken so long to write but forgive me if it's not coherent. i have the flu and i'm literally surviving on Dayquil, ibuprofen, and claritin.
> 
> thanks for tuning in

Yahya takes to calling Amala ‘Princess’ and she can’t find it within her to dislike it. She _is_ like a princess. Yahya never spoke about money, but it was clear from his house (and the gifts he’d lavished on her since her Change) that it was not an issue. Amala had grown up with “just enough”. _Just enough_ to not be on welfare. _Just enough_ to go on the occasional school field trip, even if she couldn’t buy lunch.

With Antoni, _just enough_ was scaled back considerably. Young vampires didn’t need many comforts, and the crowd Antoni ran with cared more about blood, partying, and skateboards than getting a job or paying a bill. For the first four months of their relationship, Amala slept on the floor of a roach-infested one bedroom. She only had a blanket and a couch pillow to call her own, and sometimes not even that.

Life in Yahya’s home was a huge step up from that. For one, her room, and yes it was her’s, Yahya had turned over the only key, and everything was as big as the old junky house Antoni and his coven called home. She slept in a four-poster bed, but as a newborn vampire, Amala did very little sleeping. Usually, she was over at her computer (also bought by Yahya) and caught up on her reading. She ordered books she’d never been able to afford but didn’t have the patience to read them.

When you had all the time in the world it was hard to feel like you were using it while sitting around and reading a book. Yahya, who liked nothing more than to sit in his chair by the fire with a text in his lap, said that was the youth in her. He said that about a lot of things, it was his gentle way of telling her, “You’ll get it when you’re older.”

It didn’t take long for Amala to find things to occupy her time though. Once Yahya extended her leash to the city Amala ran amuck with all the vamps she’d dreamed of being apart of. She never stayed with coven for long, too many bodies and energies. Yahya thought it was “promising” she had this level of sensitivity. Amala thought it was godsdamned annoying. She wasn’t any more social than she’d been as a human.

On her few runs, flitting here and there, she realized that the vampire community was smaller than she’d realized. Everyone knew someone who knew someone else. Very few people knew about Yahya, Amala quickly learned to stop talking about it him. But the Rios-Wexner’s knew Yahya from the stuffy meetings all the old vampires had from time to time to keep the peace. Another thing Amala learned: none of the younger, less established vampires thought anything actually happened in these meetings.

Apparently Antoni was becoming a public nuisance, and no one was doing anything about it. As far as vampire law went, and yes Yahya had insisted she read up on it, he wasn’t breaking any of the creeds the cities fragile peace was built on. He wasn’t draining humans and leaving their bodies to be discovered. He wasn’t starting conflicts with other covens or threatening boundary lines. No, he was just traumatizing every high school girl in his incessant search for blood and pleasure in a meaningless life.

If there was anything that made Amala’s lightning strike fury flash it was the knowledge that even as a vampire, she wasn’t powerful enough to stop him. Antoni had some years on her, more than his outward appearance of a doe-eyed 22-year-old would lead you to believe. He’d developed powers Amala was only just coming into. It would be some time before she could openly move against him.

Instead, she lent a kind ear to anyone who would talk. Another benefit of the vampire community, everyone knew something and they all had photographic memories. When people asked why she cared Amala had a different excuse every time. They all more or less boiled down to: I’d heard he was a bad guy, but I didn’t realize it was to this extent. No one, not even the vampires closest to Antoni, recognized her as his sheepish, human girlfriend.

After an eventful, informative run one night, Amala raced home to Yahya. Despite playing the social butterfly, Amala genuinely enjoyed the warm silences she could share with her Maker. He allowed her to be cuddly, never taking his touches and kisses farther than she was comfortable with. Some of her favorite memories of her new life involved her curled up like a cat next to Yahya, while he read to his in that sweet, soothing baritone voice.

Tonight Amala came home to an empty house. She suspected Yahya had gone to yet another meeting of ‘The Old-Heads’, Amala’s new word for the group of leading vampires. He wouldn’t tell her why they were meeting so much. The lower vampires all thought they were meeting to finally (or not) deal with the local complaints. Amala didn’t really care. She answered to no one but Yajya and she had him wrapped entirely around her little finger.

Whatever the Old Heads were planning wouldn’t affect her, Yahya wouldn’t let it.

Yahya arrived him minutes before dawn, cutting it close in a way that worried Amala. He dragged his feet, and his large leather briefcase, into his study and shut the door behind him. Amala, who’d watched all this from the living room, wasted no time hopping to her feet and silently flitting towards the door of his study. 

She didn’t knock, at first. After slowing to a complete stop she pressed her ear against the door and listened to him on the other side. Vampires either had no heartbeats or very slow heartbeats, Amala’s ears weren’t developed enough to differentiate sometimes. Yahya didn’t have any heartbeat, but he’d fallen into the habit of breathing rhythmically like humans. Amala didn’t bother with all that, but she’d spent many a night or post-tantrum nap, tucking under his chin with her ear against his chest. 

There was no breathing going on in the study, at least not any that Amala could hear. She pressed closer against the door, listening for the shift of fabric against fabric that would mean he was walking or sitting or anything. Anything but the silence. Even when it was quiet in the house, the silence didn’t feel spring-loaded. This silence didn’t feel like it could last yet it did, drawing out the feeling of foreboding and tension in Amala’s gut.

Instinctively, Amala reeled away from the study door. She moved at a speed to fast for human eyes and found herself in the living room. The sound of Yahya’s briefcase crashing against the door she'd been standing next to seconds ago. Amala returns to the spot once the door stops rocking and the sounds of Yahya tearing his study apart filter through the thick wood.

At times like this, Amala yearned for him. She desperately wanted to go to him and soothe him. Whether it was a symptom of the bond formed after he made her, or something else she didn’t know. All Amala knew was the empty feeling of her arms and the itch in her spine telling her to go to him.

She does go to him, eventually. Amala waits until his fury has shifted from destruction to construction. He was always tinkering with one device or another and as soon as she heard the telltale whir of his drill Amala pushed the door open.

Inside, his study was in shambles. The only furniture still standing was his bookcases, where tomes and texts as old as Long Beach itself sat untouched on the shelves and his desk. His desk chair, the couch she curled up on to be near him, and every lamp or source of light had been smashed.

And Yahya stood in the middle of it all, a titan in a ripped dress shirt and tight slacks.

He smiled once he caught sight of Amala lingering in the threshold though his eyes still had that black, depthless, quality to him that made Amala think of what weres said about their wolf being close to the surface. In this case, the monster inside Yahya was as close to the surface as he’d ever allowed her to see. For the first time since the night they met in that alley, Amala was afraid of what Yahya might do to her.

“I’m sorry if I scared you, sweetness.” casting around for something he hadn’t destroyed to sit on, Yahya settles for climbing onto the top of his desk. He waves her closer again.

This time, Amala took a hesitant step forward, though she couldn’t say she meant to. It was more like, Yahya beckoned so Amala took a step forward. Then another, and another, until she was settled in the v of his long legs. 

“As you may have guessed, my night did not go the way I wanted it to.” Yahya nuzzled Amala’s temple. He found her scent, the lingering touches of human that wouldn’t go away until her second decade at least, calmed him. He called it the vampire version of new baby smell. Amala didn’t enjoy the comparison but she wouldn’t object to the cuddling.

“Did you at least have a productive night?” Yahya asked, his voice muffled by Amala’s hair.

Amala shrugged, a human habit that she’d probably never shake, “I ran with some locals. Fed over near Bubba Gumps and then ran around the Pike with a few local covens.”

Yahya hummed in acknowledgment but said nothing else. Amala continued with more detail. She always felt a little childish recounting her day with him like this, no matter how many times they did it. It was obvious Yahya was interested in what she had to say, it was Amala who didn’t think what she did was all that important. Her life as a vampire was definitely different from her life as a human, yet there were enough similarities to make Amala ashamed of how she was spending her eternity.

“I learned some more stuff about Antoni, too. People think the Old Heads keep meeting so often to figure out what to do about him.”

Yahya pulled away so they could look at each other, “Do they?”

Amala nodded, “They don’t think y'all will actually do anything. But apparently more than a few people are sick of his shit.”

Yahya’s brow furrowed as if he were in thought. In a distracted tone of voice, he asked, “And have you been listening to my order to not engage with him?”

Amala scoffed, “Duh? I know I’m not strong enough to take him on my own.”

Yahya gently pushed Amala away and hopped off his table. He turned and regarded his document and blueprint covered desk, “Do you know which covens are expressing displeasure?”

Amala pouted, she hadn’t been ready for cuddle time to be over. Yahya had already, obviously switched gears. He was now in construction mode, and he needed Amala and the information she had to carry it out.

She told him everything she heard and everyone who said it. Yahya soon had a list of names that he then placed over a map, marking the territories Amala named. There were a few from the bigger vampire covens; Signal Hill, Bixby Knolls, and Seal Beach for starters. Then stretching from San Pedro to Whittier. The stories were all the same; people were sick and tired of Antoni running through young girls like Capri suns.

After Yahya had his list compiled, a strange dark gleam entered his eyes.

Amala studied over the notes he’d taken, still unclear what they meant in the grand scheme of whatever plans he had. Because she knew Yahya was planning _something_ , no one would willingly subject themselves to weekly vampire meetings if not. But she’d never cared enough to investigate.

“Is Antoni involved with whatever you’re doing with the Old Heads?” Amala couldn’t keep her anxiety out of her voice. What if, all along, he’d simply been using her? What if Antoni had been his real interest all along, and Amala was just his fun game?

Yahya smacked his lips and rolled his eyes, “Princess, you already know I don’t give a rats ass about that excuse of a vampire.” He cupped her cheeks and kissed her nose. Any other time it would feel comforting. At that moment it felt more condescending.

Swiping his hands off his face Amala glared at him, “Then why does it matter? Why do you need all this information?”

Yahya sighed, impatiently. He pointed at the map, “What do you see?”

Amala’s nose scrunched up, was he trying to distract her or was he trying to make some weird point? She knew no matter what she said Yahya would make his point the way he wanted to make it. Amala was once again just along for the ride.

“A map of all the territories and people pissed off at Antoni.”

Yahya shook his head, “I see an army.”

Amala squinted at him, then at the map. _An army?_

“Antoni is just a symptom of the negligence of the older vampires. They preach these rules to keep the humans happy yet use every excuse in the book to protect misbehaving vampires from justice.” Yahya wrapped an arm around Amala’s waist and pulled her forward, “I promised to make you strong enough to get rid of that parasite. And now you, princess, have given me the ammunition I need to do it.”


	7. Chapter 7

“I think myself and the other’s have been more than welcoming since you settled in our territory thirty years ago.” The vampire sitting in Yahya’s study matched the furniture; antique, with a faded glamour that’s quickly becoming outdated rather than vintage. 

Yahya smiled warmly, “And I have felt most welcomed. Your city is beautiful. A jewel this side of the Valley,” the vampire nodded in acknowledgment of Yahya’s compliment. Yahya paused through the purposely slowed movement and continued with the same warm smile, “Which is why it’s become important to me to take notice of what ails my new home.”

The vampire across from him narrowed his eyes but before he could reply Yahya reached towards the coffee table between them and poured from the still steaming carafe of blood. He poured a generous helping in one glass and then into another. Before taking his drink, he offered a glass to his guest, who stared at the drink as if Yahya had slipped poison into it right before his eyes.

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife but vampiric etiquette laws bound them to this time-consuming song and dance.

Yahya had always thought the social traditions held onto so tightly by older vampires prolonged the inevitable. Allowed those who knew how to say the right words in whatever way suited them best.

Case in point, Yahya had invited the vampire before him, one Hector Rios-Wexner, to his home under the guise of better explaining his concern for the neighborhood. He wasn’t very high on the vampire chain of command but he was a respected man and his job at the university connected him to the youth. 

This meeting between them went beyond business. Aside from his issues with how things are being run in Long Beach, Yahya wanted to better understand the vampire who’d found Amala and sheltered his delicate flower.

Amala had never been in Yahya’s plans but she’s become a surprisingly pleasant addition to his eternity since her Rebirth. And she’s continued to surprise him as she matured. Who’d have known an experiment would have turned out quite so entertaining?

“You never mentioned to the council that you were planning on setting down roots, Mr. Abdul.” Hector took his glass from Yahya absentmindedly, his voice was cautious. Yahya could see confusion in his dark eyes though the other vampire attempted to mask his emotions.

“Abdul-Mateen,” Yahya corrected with a smile as he took up his own glass and raised it to his lips. “If our conversation is to remain civil we shouldn’t call each other out our names,” he joked. 

Then he winked at Hector, who huffed in return. Yahya took a tentative sip of the blood, not even tasting the perfectly temperate liquid as it crossed his tongue. He was too focused on Hector and the stiff way he sat.

The man wasn’t used to being singled out. He probably felt better in a group. Maybe he was the type to have more of a voice when he was repeating what everyone around him said. One on one, on Yahya’s turf, seemed to be a man like Hector’s worst nightmare. Sheep often had this problem. 

Yahya smiled like a wolf in the face of Hector’s stiff posture, “Will you not drink with me? I don’t think the conversation is unsalvageable yet.”

Hector glared at Yahya then seemed to remember himself. Yahya watched him carefully school his features back into that unassuming sheep-like mask. He raised his glass and tilted his head in a mock toast. Then, with a dramatically forced jerk of his arm, Hector threw the contents of his glass into his waiting mouth. Swallowing as soon as the blood hit his tongue.

As far as Yahya could see, his lips didn’t even touch the glass.

“Now, Mr. Abdul-Mateen, I’ve come to you today because my humans tell me a vampire claiming you as their sire has been hanging around our territory. I didn’t want to take this to the other covens because-”

“You don’t want to embarrass yourself. Who can’t handle one overstepping baby vamp?” Yahya smiled as he spoke but his tone was too pointed for the insult not to register.

Hector glared, and when he began speaking again Yahya spouted a bit of fang. Such a careless loss of control and the meeting has only just begun. This time, Yahya’s smile was genuine and he made no effort to hide it with a sip of blood.

“I don’t think you understand how things go here,” Hector began hotly. Before he could continue Yayha cut him off.

“Mhm, but I think I do.” Yahya sat forward and set his glass on the table between them, “You coven leaders have gotten comfortable. You do the bare minimum for your humans and the rest are left in the lurch. When the humans are in trouble you give them platitudes and do as little as possible because you’ve forgotten what it’s like to have your territory threatened.”

By the time he finished speaking all humor, all levity had left Yahya’s face. His face was an immovable mask, broadcasting his disgust for Hector and vampires like him. The lazy fucks that let humans like Amala, like Yahya, be ripped apart by their peers. Yet still expect gratitude for doing the bare minimum of saying humans can live in their territory. As if vampires didn’t need humans as much as vampires thought humans needed them.

“Do you have a problem with the way our territory is run?” Hector’s voice had a dangerous amount of hostility in it. Yahya didn’t appreciate being spoken to in such a way.

Smiling Yahya reached for his drink and raised a hand. Hector’s eyes followed his hand with weary, distrustful eyes, and blood and spittle staining the soul patch under his lip. 

The spectrum of vampire powers has yet to be accurately documented and accounted for. There were the staples to their condition: immortality, strength, durability. But every now and then you got a vampire who could read emotions or minds. Every coven had their “special” one and they protected them accordingly.

Hector, as a vampire scholar, was aware that Yahya could very well do anything to him that no one would be able to trace back to him. Even though he’d tried to approach him man to man, Hector seemed to sense he’d been singled out for a reason.

Yahya snapped his fingers to summon the next surprise of their meeting. He quietly enjoyed the way Hector jerked as if waiting for the pain to hit.

Amala entered the study, her lovely brown eyes vacant and unseeing. She gracefully navigated the room despite the blank stare she leveled the room with and stood behind Yahya’s chair. Allowing Hector a perfect view of the pet-human he’d tried to protect. 

Hector’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening and going black with dawning horror. He stood shakily, “Amala…?”

Yahya chuckled at that stubborn tremor of disbelief in the other vampires' voices. Could he really not believe his eyes? Had he really believed that someone as entrenched in their life like Amala wouldn’t find _someone_ to finally turn her? Especially after he and his wife allowed that monster to rip into her whenever he pleased.

Feigning innocence, Yahya cocked an eyebrow, “So you know each other? Good. I worried this next part might be a bit awkward.” With another snap of his long finger, Amala darted forward, too fast for almost his eyes to see, and had her fingers buried in Hector's chest.

Hector coughed up blood, lurching over Amala’s slightly shorter frame. His arms came weakly around her but Yahya tsked.

“Aht, aht!” he scolded. Amala moved smoothly, her hand buried to the wrist in Hector’s chest cavity. With two, sickening crunches, Hector’s arms went from grasping at Amala to hanging loosely from their sockets.

Tears of blood spilled from his black eyes and the man looked seconds away from passing out.

“Alright, young one.” Yahya’s voice became subsonic, penetrating her subconscious mind. Amala turned woodenly towards him. He couldn’t really say she was looking at him because she wasn’t looking at anything. Still, he smiled at her as if she could see it. 

“You may release him. I want him to be conscious for this next bit.” If she’d been herself, Amala would have pouted. His flower did like her violence, though he suspected even he wouldn’t have been able to convince her to harm the only father figure she’d had for the last five years.

With a wet, sucking sound, Amala released her grip on Hector’s heart. With one bloody fingertip, she pushed his forehead so that his body fell limply into the chair behind him.

That done, Amala turned to Yahya expectantly.

“Thank you, love, you may go.” Amala woodenly turned and left as silently as she’d entered. His thrall on her would wear off in a few weeks, but Yahya planned to free her as soon as he’d dealt with Hector. He had an errand for her to run that required more than a little mindless roughing up.

Throwing back the last of his drink, Yahya sat the glass back on the table between him and Hector. The other man lay still and dead-eyed in the other chair, but Yahya knew he was still alive.

“I want you to listen very carefully, Hector. Because if I have to repeat myself again, I won’t stop her from ripping your heart out.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **not edited, all mistakes my own*

“You’re house is so cool, Amala!”

“So cool,”

Amala smiled weakly, but the humans in front of her were too dazzled by her beauty to see through it. Their necks craned back to stair at the high ceilings and candlelight. They swayed subconsciously to the music floating through the air, low enough for sensitive vampire ears but loud enough to be heard over the chatter of the crowd.

Everyone acted as if they’d never seen a house before. Amala sipped at her champagne glass of blood and eyed the vampire elite holding up the walls of the room. They seemed horrified to attend the same event as unclaimed humans. Yet awestruck and fascinated by the display. Vampires like Yahya; reclusive, nocturnal, old* tended to flock together. Many of them hadn’t seen a human in decades.

Vampires like Hector and Carole looked anxious about the culture clash. It was fun watching them frantically code shift. The only time Amala smiled all night.

Yahya, of course, seemed to be the only one at ease. His booming laugh could be heard across the ballroom. When Amala dared look at him, a large smile filled his handsome face and his bright intelligent eyes sparkled. It was enough to make her wish her heartbeat. She never felt prepared to look at him though she always seems to know where he was within the room.

Their magnetism didn’t matter, Amala wasn’t speaking to him.

She’d… done something for him. Amala didn’t know what. She was sure she was never supposed to remember what happened. But in her dreams, she feels the beat of slick, fibrous muscle. Warm, liquid covers her hands up to the wrists, and then she drowns in it. Every time, Amala drowns. And every time, the last thing she sees is Yahya.

She wakes up earlier and earlier, compelled as always to take to the city to mingle with the very humans Amala had never looked twice at when she’d been alive herself. They all had complaints, against the old vampires, against the new vampires, against the whole coven and territory system really. Amala listened and she empathized, remembering what it was like to be preyed upon as a human yet already detached from it.

Everything that happened to her as a human happened when she was a human. Amala hadn’t been human in months, and now there was a part of her that wondered if she’d ever been human in the first place. Human in the ways that counted. Like empathy and the need for a sense of community.

Amala drained her glass and scanned the room from her dark corner. Every vampire that mattered was here. Some of whom she’d only heard about from the Rios-Wexners. They were there too, as antisocial as all the other vampires in attendance. Amala hadn’t wanted to bother with greeting them, but Yahya upheld very outdated standards of etiquette so she’d been forced to face them, and every other guest, before she even had the benefit of wine laced blood to ease her discomfort.

For once in her life, Amala wasn’t happy to see them. An itch had settled under her skin as soon as the first guest stepped foot in their house. There were too many vampires in one room. She assumed for so long that all the territorial disputes between vampires was another case of the powerful wanting to flex their power. All humans thought that at least a little bit, though no one dared say it within earshot of a vampire.

This bone-deep sense of discomfort was enough to make Amala grind her teeth, and she was only a baby vampire. She couldn’t imagine how this felt to older vampires.

Yahya didn’t seem the least bit affected, though Amala tried her best not to notice anything about him. She didn’t want to even look at him for too long. Who knows what he’d do to her head again?

Amala may not have any proof he’d been rooting around in her psyche but she felt the echoes of him within her mind. He’d taken her education seriously, rooting around in her mind during those early days of her Rebirth. Whether to calm her when the rages took over or to give her the necessary control to sake her bloodlust without tearing into the humans she fed on. 

Beyond that, he left her mind alone. He taught her simple defenses that Amala was sure had done nothing to keep him* out. Like most newborn vamps, once she’d learned the basics Amala hadn’t been interested in the intricacies of vampire power and ability. Now she was thinking it wouldn’t hurt to learn something new. Without Yahya’s help.

The music swelled above the chatter of the room and the cut of abruptly. Conversations faltered in confusion and in the brief dip in noise Yahya’s voice rose to the vaulted ceilings and echoed back down on them, effectively silencing the rest of the room.

“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Yahya smiled at the room at large, dazzling everyone with his smile and how good he looked in his coat and tails. His eyes swept the room before he continued, and when they landed on Amala his smile broadened.

Amala looked at her feet. She didn’t even want to make eye contact with him until she was sure she could trust him with her head.

“I am so pleased to see all of my guests in my home. There are several of you in this room that don’t know much about me, and I thank you for gracing me with your attendance. After millennia on my own, it warms my heart to be here with you all today.”

Amala raises her eyes slightly, and wilts in relief once she sees that Yahya is no longer focused on her. He’s addressing the room at large and everyone hung on his every word with bated breath. Yahya’s genial yet commanding presence in the room seemed to touch them all, and as he spoke Amala believed he could tell them anything and the crowd would give him the same starry-eyed look.

“After decades of nomadic life, I’ve decided I want to settle here, among you fine people!”

A ripple goes through the crowd at Yahya’s announcement. The vampires looked shocked, outraged, and varying degrees of murderous. The humans, oblivious and ignorant to the tensions in the room, filled the room with applause and questions.

“Will you be accepting humans onto your territory”

“Are you building a coven? Please! I’ve wanted to be a vampire since-”

“Does being in your territory protect us at all?”

Yahya laughed and waved away the humans’ questions, “Please, please! This is a party. Let’s celebrate now and leave the boring stuff for later? Huh?” He grabs a human by the shoulder and another by the waist and propels them towards the dance floor.

“Music? Where’s my music!” Yahya dashes to the wall and dances a vampire away from the wall. Her mate, looking murderous, followed after her. Yahya cajoled more people out onto the center of the room as the music swelled louder than before.

Soon, happy humans danced in circles around vampires that looked as if they were being forced at stake-point to dance for Yahya’s amusement. Amala watched it all happen and took careful steps towards the grand doors leading out of the room. She was careful in her movements. Not to fast, lest she catch Yahya’s watchful eye. Yet not slow enough to let the human’s surging towards Yahya and the dancefloor slow her progress.

As she moved, Amala kept her sense attuned to Yahya’s presence. She couldn’t risk staring too long and attracting his eye. And the itch under her skin had her already heightened senses feeling overstimulated. From the music to the scent of hot-blooded humans to rising panic in the back of her throat. Everything in Amala screamed at her to escape so she did.

Once her fingers connected with the gilded doorhandle, Amala lost all sense. Instinct and panic drove her to her true speed. Faster than the human eye could see, Amala ran from the ballroom to the second floor. Pausing on the landing, Amala listened for the sound of Yahya or anyone else noticing her absence.

None of the humans really knew her. Amala knew now that humans didn’t have an accurate perception of vampires. Despite their very real existence and power, they were so beyond the human scope of existence and understanding that no human could truly understand what a vampire was. To those humans, Amala was another bloodsucker, another fetish, another ticket to eternal beauty or strength or even just lame old immortality.

Whether dead or alive, Amala was nothing but a commodity, a means to an end. Cannon fodder.

“Tell me you don’t believe that,”

Amala jumped. She turned to find Yahya a few steps below her. It was almost shocking to see his face without a smile. He’d worn the damn thing for days now. In the dim, gaslit staircase Yahya looked his age. Which is to say, he looked positively ancient.

“What have you done to yourself,” the pull to him drew Amala forward unwillingly. Her distrust couldn’t fight the reality that he was her Sire.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed, little one.” Yahya dismissed. He took one step up, towards Amala, yet stayed beneath her.

“You should go back to your party then,” Amala said coldly. She turned, intending to dash to her bedroom and lock the door.

She made it halfway there. Amala moved quickly and was in her room faster than the blink of an eye. Yet when she turned Yahya was there, coughing into his fist and settling into her armchair by the fireplace.

Grinding the teeth, Amala shut the useless door with a bang and resolved to ignore him in* her room. If he wanted to force himself where he wasn’t wanted then she could do what she’d planned to do in the first place: avoid him.

“I get the feeling that I’ve done something to upset you.” Yahya’s voice sounded wrecked once his coughing fit subsided. It made the way he stared up at her with his depthless brown eyes even more devastating.

Amala hissed and flashed her fangs at him, “Drop the act! I won’t let you manipulate me anymore!”

Yahya’s brow furrowed in genuine concern, “When have I manipulated you, my angel?”

“Stop! With the pet names!” Amala roared. She grabbed the closest breakable thing, a porcelain cat Yahya had given her after her second kill. She’d lost control her first night out and ripped into a cat before Yahya could steer her in the right direction.

The first time she’d seen it Amala had laughed and kissed Yahya’s cheek and spent all night hunting with him. They’d stumbled home ten minutes before dawn with their bellies full and their mouths stained. She’d thought it one of her best memories in her afterlife, now it felt tainted by her suspicion.

It flew threw the air, saved only by Yahya’s fist snatching it from its fate. It didn’t matter. Amala got ahold of a lamp and that hit its mark against the brick mantle on the fireplace.

“Amala!” Yahya hissed. He tried to shield his face from the shard of glass but his reactions were slower than usual. Amala noticed immediately. The sight of weakness in her Sire took some of the wind out of her sails.

“What have you done, Yahya? The truth this time,” She added when it looked like he was going to start in with the sweet talk.

Dark eyes studied her expression and the sounds of the party raging in the ballroom below carried to their enhanced ears. Even without Yahya to rile them up the party seemed to be getting rowdier by the minute. The sound of the music had risen to a level that must be deafening to the vampires in the room. 

“I want you to know Amala, you were never a part of my plans. Not in the beginning.” Yahya’s eyes dropped away to stare at the shattered porcelain on the hearth.

“I’m very old. I was changed by the daughter of the First Vampire. The Alpha. He had many children, and they went on to spread his… gift across millennia. My Sire took my life some time…” he hesitated.

Intrigued, Amala settled on her bed. Far enough from Yahya to ease her anxiety yet close enough to see every expression the moment it crossed his face. This view allowed her to know, with the first bit of certainty since her haunting dreams began, that Yahya was telling her the truth. His hesitation wasn’t calculation but an old, old man’s struggle to remember. So much had happened to him, before Long Beach, before Amala. Placing it all in order in his head had to be a struggle.

“I can’t remember the exact date, but it was before Christ was born. I traveled with my Sire until I was ready to go on my own and for centuries I traveled, I studied, and I lived separately from the modern vampire’s need for territory. It wasn’t until the dawn of what is now America, that I thought the land was worth settling on. But I had been separated from the humans for so long. I could barely communicate with those around me.”

Yahya met Amala’s eyes. The music downstairs swelled somehow louder, “I planned to find a patch of land and call it my own but what’s a vampire to do with land. We don’t need to grow or raise our food...at least not in the ways, humans found palatable. And so much was already claimed by those who had the numbers I lacked.”

Amala waited to feel disgusted at his dismissive tone while he floated the idea of raising humans like cattle for his own consumption. It never arrived. Instead Amala was intrigued, he’d been here for so long. Why had he waited until now?

Yahya smiled, “I took a liking to California, the West Coast as a whole actually. And it just so happened that the vampires who think themselves the rulers of this land had left their territory ripe for the plucking.”

The music reached a deafening pitch, sending Amala to her knees. She clutched her ears and moaned in pain. Yahya was at her side in seconds, his arm around her waist. He maneuvered her weak, writhing form into his arms and lap, cocooning her in his body.

“I am sorry you had to feel this little one,” Yahya kissed her forehead as he spoke, brushing her hair out of her face. Amala was in too much pain to respond, she simply clutched at him and whimpered as pain took over the entirety of her being.

“When this is all over it won’t be so bad. You’ll be my Queen…”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is barely edited but i've been inspired.

The ballroom was awash in a mix of ash and blood. Human bodies lay sprawled across the once pristine floor and destroyed furniture. Most of them were intact. More than Amala could count were unrecognizable beyond a pile of red meat and blood.

It was enough to make even Amala turn away in disgust.

Behind her, Yahya watched her reaction with tired eyes. The ballroom scene seemed not to affect him. Even as the hem of Amala’s dress became soaked and heavy, his gaze remained on her eyes. He had the manner of a man who knew he’d fucked up with his woman and was awaiting judgment. 

Amala didn’t know whether to be awed or horrified. 

There wasn’t any hope of recognizing any of the vampires that had attended. They were the ash beneath her feet and still clogging the hair in faint, gray flakes.

“The human’s attacked the vampire’s...didn’t they?” Amala asked the blood-splattered tapestry displaying a hunting scene. She’d seen the Rios-Wexner’s standing over here. There was ash spread everywhere, what was to differentiate theirs from any other vampire that had fallen here.

“I compelled them myself,” Yahya joined her by the tapestry. He frowned at the bloodstain, “Humans are always punctual. Compared to vampires at least. Especially Americans.” With a sigh, he took the tapestry off the wall and let it fall into the mess of furniture chips, blood, and ash.

Amala walked over to the single remaining piece of furniture, a chaise lounge with its upholstery gouged and stained to bits. It held firm under Amala’s wait when she sat on it, and though she couldn’t feel lightheaded or nauseous she had no idea how to deal with the weight of what Yahya’s done.

“You’ve killed every leader…” biting her lips, Amala began to shake in her seat, “You’ve brought a war down on our heads.”

Cooing, Yahya rushed to her side and pulled her into his arms, “You have nothing to worry about. No one will ever hurt you again. I promised you that.”

“Except you…”

Yahya said nothing to that. When Amala pulled out of his grasp he let her. It broke her heart to feel terrified of her Sire, to both fear and hate him for what he’s done. But Amala knew without a doubt that she couldn’t handle much more than all this.

The memories, weeks of her life had been gone now back and more horrifying than she could have anticipated. Yahya was carnage hidden by paternal gentility. He was worse than all the coven leaders or the Rios-Wexners. They were negligent and that’s how they hurt the humans in their care. Antoni was a veritable baby, only two decades undead and still enraptured with preying on human teenagers.

Yahya was old and distanced from humanity. Maybe he’d turned it off, maybe living as long as he had made it difficult to maintain your humanity? Whatever his damage, he’d brought it to Amala. Unintentional or not, she was his Offspring. They were forever linked.

“How do you think you’ll protect me?” Amala spoke after a long silence had passed between them.

Yahya had left her on the chaise lounge and was now examining the corpses, dragging the pieces and mush piles to one, bloody corner of the room, and the more intact bodies towards the other side. His sleeves were rolled up and it wasn’t for the effortless way he shifted hundreds of pounds of flesh and bone he’d be the image of a hard worker.

Vampire propaganda if there ever was such a thing.

Dropping a pile of mush on his steadily growing (and coagulating) pile of body parts, Yahya wiped his hands on a relatively clean bit of shit that fell of a torso with no head and no arms. Approaching, slowly Amala noticed, he snatched something out of the stiff, dead hands of a human missing everything from their neck to their elbow on the right side.

The stake was long and white, made of wood only at its tip. The rest was a sleek, white painted silver. A vial lay inside, red remnants of blood or poison still inside.

“This is something of my own invention.” He twisted the stake until the vial was in better view, “That there is a formula I created as an extra...insurance. Vampires have been having territory wars for centuries.” Yahya looked up at Amala, gauging her reaction, “They go on for too long and attack the wrong kind of human attention.”

One of the bodies Yahya had dragged off to the side began twitching. He ignored it. Amala couldn’t look away from it, aware all the while that Yahya was studying her face.

She wanted her explanation, he more than owed her that. But Amala had never seen a transformation up close before. He hadn’t dragged over many bodies; Alama counted six at the most. So far only one was twitching. 

“The main reason,” Yahya continued despite Amala’s obvious distraction, “Vampire wars never end is because there’s always someone trying to avenge their Sire or their mate and it takes time and resources to pull a weed from its roots if you will.”

Snapping her head back to look at him, Amala cocked her eyebrow. He couldn’t mean…

“You created a formula that allowed you to kill any vampire’s offspring too?”

Amala couldn’t believe it. Vampire family lines were famously known to be meticulously well kept. If you killed a Sire who’d been alive at least a century, as more than one vampire in attendance has, then that’s hundreds if not thousands of vampires suddenly poofing out of existence.

“So far only direct offspring. I couldn’t get it to extend to entire lines,” he shrugged and dimpled. His handsome face wasn’t ruined by the blood or exhaustion in the low dip of his eyelids and the plush swoop of his lips.

Amala hated herself for loving him. And for feeling proud. He’d accomplished something unheard of and accomplished a goal he’d wanted longer than she’d been alive.

A glint of white caught Amala’s eye and an idea entered her head.

“What about Antoni? You say you never intended to include me in your plans but you did.” She gestured around the room. Behind them, a piece of flesh unstuck from where it’d been thrown against a window.

“Mission accomplished, no?”

Fighting off a smile Yahya studied Amala, “What are you proposing?”

Pretending to think, Amala sped faster than the flicker of a candle across the room. Her hands grabbed and yanked the white, unused stake out of the hand of a disembodied arm. She tried to be just as quick returning to Yahya but he caught her wrist seconds before Amala could raise it about her head.

He didn’t look threatened. Amused, maybe. Aroused, surprisingly. The remained locked arm in arm, the only thing stopping her from ending them both with the firm yet gentle grip he kept on the arm that held the stake.

“You don’t strike me as the suicidal type,” Yahya studied her features hungrily, searching for the reason behind her actions.

Amala, having given up on reason amidst the stench of blood and death smirked. The mean mock smile didn’t hide the heat and anger in her eyes.

“Didn’t I?” she pressed forward, reminding Amala that as a newborn she was almost matched with him in strength. “Isn’t that why you changed me in the first place?”

He readjusted his grip, trying to spin Amala into sitting on his lap. Amala pushed into the movement, knocking him off guard. When she landed on his lap, he had to scramble to keep her from plunging the knife into her chest. Once again, they were locked in a battle of strength and will.

“Amala please, believe me-”

She growled and pulled the stake closer to her chest.

“I know I’ve broken your trust but please…” he grunted and with some effort, managed to twist the stake out of her hands and toss it aside.

His arms locked around her torso just as quickly, trapping her to his chest and preventing her from going after the stake. Amala thrashed wildly in his grip, snarling and hissing.

“Let me show you. Let me make good on one of the first promises I ever made you-” he twisted so quickly that even Amala found herself disoriented enough to stop struggling in his grip. With her anger and momentum gone it was all too easy for her to sink tiredly into his embrace.

Amala didn’t really want to die. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to kill Yahya either. If a newborn like her could. He’d singlehandedly orchestrated the massacre of entire vampire covens in one night. With her honed hearing, she could hear the chaos in the city beyond the walls of Yahya’s home.

Vampires couldn’t die without someone noticing. Who knew how many Yahya had erased from the face of the earth.

With her calm against him, Yahya felt comfortable carrying Amala from the ballroom. Once out of the room, away from the smells and sights of Yahya’s coup, Amala was able to center herself even more.

Yahya took them deep into a wing of the house Amala hadn’t explored often in her early days as a newborn. This wing smelled staler, though a remnant of Yahya’s familiar scent was everywhere. That and another scent Amala would know anywhere.

Rushing out of Yahya's grip with renewed energy, she made it to a steel door locked with a comically large safe. The room it was in looked like a nursery, with faded ducky wallpaper and all. The scent was strongest from the safe and it was too thick for Amala to hear any sound from within.

Hopping up and down Amala turned to Yahya with a smile she tried hard to fight stretching across her face. He had that indulgent look in his eyes he got whenever he’d done something he knew would please her. His misdeeds hadn’t been forgotten by either of them. But what was in the safe would be the first step to Amala giving him forgiveness.

“May I?” Amala asked excitedly. She sounded like a kid on Christmas asking permission to open their presents. Every inch of her body looked poised to pounce on the safe regardless of what Yahya said.

Yet his influence remained in her head. With pleasure, Yahya released her from his control. His order to leave Antoni alone gone in a puff of smoke.

She pounced on the safe, denting the strong iron under her pretty dimpled fingers.

As if sensing his demise, Yahya’s much stronger ears picked up the sound of the baby vamp stirring. Yahya hadn’t done anything to the vampire himself, though he’d thought to. But any vamp spending more than four months in a safe without blood and they’d be a little worse for wear too.

“He’ll probably be a little weak once you let him out. I hope it doesn’t take too much of the enjoyment out of it for you.” Yahya watched as she abandoned peeling the metal to twist the locking mechanism.

Amala’s grin became even more feral.

Sensing he was no longer needed, Yahya excused himself from the room.

“I hope you enjoy your toy, love.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *unedited*
> 
> But it's the end! Thanks for reading.

“Mistress,” a timid voice woke Amala up promptly at 5:45, as she’d ordered. Her the gas lamps in her bedroom were lit, and the sound of shuffling fabric and a human heartbeat filled the room.

Serenity was a new addition to Amala’s household, and Amala had yet to find a place for the girl. Her usual maid was on her babymoon before her maternity leave. She’d placed the girl in the position of her personal maid to watch the girl closely and see where her strengths lie.

So far, she had little. But she was diligent and the smell of her blood wasn’t offensive. She’d do until Ciara came back.

Amala let herself out of bed. Serenity dropped to her feet to help her slide on her slippers. The first time she’d done so unprompted since entering Amala’s employ. Once the slippers were on, Amala nodded approvingly at the girl and set about her night.

Unlike most vampires in Yahya’s inner circle, Amala kept her staff of vampires small. She didn’t like a bunch of people in and out of her house. Yahya put up with it, though as his favorite he’d rather her live with him. He’d learned not to push her on the matter though. Just paid the bills and made sure her yard looked nice.

“You have a few messages from humans in the territory. Most requests help with a vampire dispute but three requests to be changed into a vampire. Master Yahya confirmed your dinner meeting tonight at ten. He told you to wear blue.”

Serenity spoke in a soft, respectful tone of voice. Her dark brown eyes were focused on the notepad in front of her but occasionally they’d flit up and watch, hungrily, as Amala undressed.

Smirking, Amla flipped her locs over her shoulder and sat at her vanity. Familiar with Amala’s routine, Serenity carefully placed her silk robe across her shoulders, then stepped away when Amala began adjusting it herself. For the human’s benefit, she left her decolletage in full view.

“For the vampire disputes bring the vampires in question to the house. Depending on the severity of the accusation sit them in either the nice or plain sitting room. If they’ve seriously fucked up, invite them first and ask them to sit in my office while I deal with the other two vamps.” 

As she listed off a to-do list for Serenity, Amala freed her locs from her velvet ribbon and sprayed them down with a mix of her favorite oils and water.

“For the humans asking to be changed, ask Michael 1 to have their background checks on my desk before sunrise. Ask Michael 2 to look into the vamps they’ve associated with. I don’t want anyone connected to the old regime.”

Serenity bowed her head, diligently jotting down all of Amala’s orders. Amala admired the slope of her fleshy, brown neck. She’d yet to feed from the girl. Amala didn’t make a habit of feeding on all of her servants. Not all of them were into that and of the ones that were, only two of them tasted worth sampling.

Serenity smelled fresh and earthy, sweaty in that way all humans did, but not offensive in any way. Amala considered feeding on her.

“Serenity…” Amala stared at the human through her mirror.

The human looked up immediately, “Yes, Mistress…”

“Why have you not submitted a request to be changed? Under Yahya’s control, the vampire population was still rebuilding. Any of Yahya’s Favorites would take one look at you…” Amala let her eyes travel up and down the girl’s thick frame.

Serenity ducked her head, but smartly didn’t drop Amala’s gaze, “I like being human, Mistress. I joined you to serve, not to become a vampire.”

Amala turned to study Serenity further, “Really?” Serenity nodded eagerly, adorably sincere.

“Well, what have I done to earn the honor of your service?” Amala purred. With one finger, she beckoned the human closer.

In a trance, Serenity stepped forward. Amala smirked at the girl's reaction. A few sweet words and a smile was all it took to make her dumb with lust. What _had_ Serenity heard about her? Amala was desperate to know.

“I’m not sure if you remember, Mistress, but you killed a vampire by the name of Antoni.” a brave, fierce look shadowed the bashful admiration on Serenity’s face, “I was one of the girls he used to…”

Amala reached out and placed a hand on Serenity’s wrist. She could see the girl struggle with her words. It had only been a decade since she’d ripped Antoni to shreds with her hands and teeth. For two months she’d left his head on a pike in Yahya’s front lawn. Until he made her take it down because of the smell. Amala rejoiced in the death of her abuser.

She hadn’t rejoiced in hearing scores of women come forward, accusing him of using their bodies the way he’d used her’s.

Studying the other woman, Amala guessed Serenity no older than fifteen when Antoni could have had his hands on her. A fucking baby!

“Show me,” Amala ordered. She wanted to see what he’d done. Amala couldn’t say why. After killing him Amala hadn’t thought of Antoni beyond toasting the moon he’d taken her virginity under on his deathday.

Serenity moved the hand not under Amala drip to unbutton her blouse. Bending at the waist, she pushed her braids over her shoulder to reveal a strip of neck. A scar identical to the once on Amala’s neck, chest, and wrist marred her otherwise lovely neck. The bite was jagged around the edges, as if she’d struggled. Or he’d purposely made it hurt.

Holding back her anger, Amala met Serenity’s gaze with an intense stare of her own, “You did not deserve that. I hope you know that. No one deserves the things he did.”

Serenity nodded, but Amala could see uncertainty in her eyes. She couldn’t have that.

“Look, I don’t know what you circumstances were when you met him. But I know that you didn’t deserve it. He had the experience to know being with you could hurt you. But he chose to be with you anyway because he knew he could easily control you. Why do you think none of the vampire women hung out with him and his friends?”

Patting her hand, Amala turned back to her mirror and adjusted her robe. “You courted a monster and paid the price. Now you’re here with me. Let go of what he did to you in your own time but be sure you let it go.” Meeting her gaze in the mirror again, Amala let her eyes soften, “I can’t tell you enough how freeing it is to just let it go. He’s gone, and you’re still here.”


End file.
